August heat and sun

I feel like I’m living in circles. Recycling the same lessons over and over. What do you think is the point of that?

I laugh at myself, because I was so overwhelming. Always too much. I’m lighter now. But still, I’m a lot to take on. To face. I know this. I’m no small task. Remember.

Remember when you were here in the dead of winter and asked me to turn my fan on? It was freezing. I was freezing, but I did it. Now when I lie in the quiet and listen to the dead noise I think of you. I know I’ll get cold, but I plug in the fan anyway. It’s this dumb shit that reminds me of you.

I think about how young you are and why you doubt me and I want to tell you that age doesn’t help with this kind of thing. You doubt until you don’t. Until you decide to stop. There really aren’t any more lessons to learn. You’ll see.

It’s overwhelming to me–all these different lives, personalities, lifestyles, preferences.

I forget–often–everyday that people don’t want to live the way I live. That people can’t see or understand– that it’s not obvious to them how I think or perceive or want to live. That even after I try to explain myself, or hell, even try to just be with someone that they still don’t get it. Get me. See me.

I SEE you. Why can’t you see me? It frustrates me to no end. People just can’t step outside of themselves like that. It’s fine. It’s just hard.

“She talks too much. It’s like the sound of crazy, and it’s much too loud.”

“I wrote one more story…I just don’t know how it ends…remember when you were my waste of time?”

“My mum’s giving me a birthday party. Although it’s not much of a party because I’m only inviting you. Will you come?”

Mythologize

I’m trying so hard, my very best, not to tell the myth of us. Not to mythologize them and me. Us in the dark, us spacing out as we walk, us feeding off the other’s emotion. Us making eye contact over words. In silence.